


The One Where Rosie Gets Sick

by Arbelly



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Parentlock, Sick Rosie, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:20:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbelly/pseuds/Arbelly
Summary: A peak into 221B when a 15 year old Rosie Watson - Holmes falls ill.Established Johnlock
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Kudos: 35





	1. Chapter 1

John was sitting in the clinic between patients when he heard the familiar sound of a text notification, looking over to his phone he could see it was from Rosie, so immediately picked it up. 

Hey Papa, can I come home from school?

I don’t feel well. 

Looking at the time John could see she still had a few hours until school let out and he had a full schedule of patients. He messaged Sherlock, hoping the man would respond quickly. 

Are you busy? 

Rosie wants to come home from school, she’s not well.

JW x

Resting his head in his hands, John sighed deeply. It had been a long mundane day that was still far from over, he started to wonder how long it would take for him to go insane just from staring at the four walls of his office. 

Busy

In pursuit of the suspect. 

SH x

Great. As if this day wasn’t bad enough without having to let his daughter down when she needed him. Rosie was a great kid, bright like her dad, she would never ask to leave school without good reason. Knowing he had to break the bad news, he sent her a message. 

What’s wrong sweetie?

I can’t get away from work, can you stick it out the rest of the day?

John couldn’t stall any longer, he had to take another patient. The quicker he got through these appointments the quicker he could get home, that should give him the motivation he needs to get through the day. 

After an especially nasty wound cleaning John was able to check his phone again, to see a reply from Rosie. 

Okay. It’s fine.

John could almost feel the icy breeze coming off the message. There just wasn’t much he could do, the clinic was understaffed as it was. He reassured himself that she could always visit the school nurse if need be and it was only a couple more hours before school would let out and the bus would take her home to 221B. 

As five o’clock arrived, John couldn’t have been more ready to leave work. He hadn’t heard from Rosie again, so he figured her day must have passed without incident. He grabbed his bag and coat as he left his office, he gave a passing wave to the girls at the reception desk hoping with a polite smile that they wouldn’t try to call him back for a few more last minute patients. With luck he was on the tube heading back to Baker street within 10 minutes. 

John was relieved to find Rosie sitting at the kitchen table working through what looked to be a math problem when he got home. She didn’t look up as he walked into the apartment and from the furrow of her brow John knew better than to interrupt. Shedding his coat by the door and dumping his bag on the floor, John decided the most important thing in that moment was to get the kettle boiling for some tea. After filling the kettle and getting it on the stove he turned around to face his daughter leaning against the counter behind him. ‘Hey, feeling any better?’ he asked casually but appraised her carefully. 

‘No. Not really,’ she replied bluntly, finally pulling her eyes from the textbook before her to meet her father’s gaze. If the look she delivered was meant to be accusatory it fell short, the exhaustion in her eyes evident. She let loose a sigh and looked back to her work without really looking at it. John felt the guilt rise in him, and he made his way around the table to his daughters side and placed a hand on her forehead. The feeling of guilt swelled at the heat radiating from her, he stroked his hand through her hair as he pulled away. 

‘Tell me what’s wrong love.’ The prompt was gentle and John watched as the girl’s shoulders sank forward, and she let her head fall into her hands, elbows resting on the table. 

‘I just don’t feel very well.’ she said with a slight shrug. 

‘Can you be more specific?’ John’s voice remained gentle as he took a seat next to her. He sat patiently as he watched her try to take mental stock of what she was feeling. 

‘I have a headache … my stomach hurts … my whole body just kind of hurts and it’s so cold in here.’ he voice was slightly muffled as she kept her head cradled in her hands, eyes closed. 

‘I think you have a fever sweetie, I can take your temperature to check. You should rest, can you finish this another time?’ John motioned to the textbook. 

‘Yeah, it’s just making my headache worse anyway.’ raising her head she turned her tired eyes on John. 

‘Come on, why don’t you go upstairs and get changed out of your school uniform, then come back down and I’ll give you some pain killers and check your temperature. Sounds good?’John gave a reassuring squeeze of her arm as he stood. Rosie followed suit and rose, bringing a hand and pressing her palm to her forehead as she did, as she swayed slightly John reached out and placed a steadying hand on her shoulder. He frowned as concern began to grow, before he could think too much into it Rosie stepped away and made her way upstairs. 

Pulling his medical bag out from under the bed, where he had begun keeping it for easy access, he searched around until he found his old stethoscope. He stopped by the bathroom for the thermometer, some paracetamol and ibuprofen. Rosie was already sitting on the couch in her pajamas when John returned. He sat next to her and placed his supplies on the other side of him. ‘Alright baby girl, let's get you sorted out shall we?’ The attempted smile was all the response John was going to get. ‘First thing is first, we need to pop this under your armpit.’ He placed the thermometer under her arm and reached for his stethoscope. Placing the headpiece in his ears, he put the diaphragm on Rosies back. ‘Deep breath for me.’ She complied and John listened closely. ‘And again.’ moving the stethoscope to the other side John nodded and pulled it away. The thermometer gave a single sharp beep and John withdrew it from her armpit. ‘Hmm, 38.9 degrees (102.2 F), definitely a fever.’

John administered the medication which Rosie took without hesitation. Looking at her shivering form sitting on the couch John headed straight upstairs and pulled the blankets and pillows off her bed, lugging them back downstairs. 

‘Here love.’ John placed the pillows at one end of the couch, Rosie gratefully laid her head down on them, swinging her legs up until she was curled up laying on her side. John then piled on her blankets before leaning down and planting a kiss on her forehead. 

‘Thanks, papa.’ Rosie said as she slowly let her eyes fall closed. 

A few hours later Rosie was still sound asleep and Sherlock had sent word that he wouldn’t be home till late. John gently shook Rosie’s shoulder. ‘Rosie, wake up darling.’ he encouraged. As she slowly came around, John placed a large glass of water on the coffee table. ‘You need to drink this and we need to check your temp again.’ He helped her untangle her arm from the blankets and position the thermometer. ‘How about some leftover Thai for dinner?’ 

‘No thanks, I’m not hungry.’ she replied quietly, still slightly dazed. 

‘Does your stomach still hurt?’ John pressed a cool hand to her forehead.

‘Yeah.’ Rosie wrapped her free hand around her abdomen as the thermometer gave a beep. ‘What’s it say?’

‘No better no worse, 38.9 degrees again. Do you feel nauseous?’ John pulled the blanket up over her as she laid back down. 

‘Yeah, a bit.’ she shrugged.

‘Alright, try to get through this water but just take small sips okay?’ John moved the drink closer. 

‘Okay,’ Rosie affirmed, but then rolled back onto her side, facing the back of the couch with her knees brought up to chest.’

‘I’m serious Rosie, you don’t want to get dehydrated.’ John warned.

‘Okay, I know.’ the young girl dismissed. 

John decided not to fight it for the moment and instead opted to find his phone and send a text to Sherlock. 

Should I wait up?

JW x

And in next to no time came the reply

No

SH x

With a sigh John headed to bed even though it was still fairly early he didn’t want to disturb Rosie by turning on the television. 

  
  
  


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It was well past midnight when Sherlock got home to 221B Baker street, the crime had been solved, the culprit apprehended and the case closed. In the dim light of the flat it didn’t take long for Sherlock to notice the sleeping form on the couch. Rosie usually only slept downstairs if something was wrong, the memory came slowly to his mind, John had told him she was unwell earlier. His mind felt slow after the case yet he didn’t want to sleep. Shedding his clothes Sherlock took a quick shower which did wonders to wash off the grime of the London streets, heading into the bedroom with a towel secured around his waist he tried to clear his mind of the latest case. He knelt by the side of the bed and planted a kiss on his sleeping husband’s cheek and another on his forehead. John slowly started to wake.

‘You’re home.’ John mumbled quietly. 

‘Yes.’ Sherlock responded with a smirk, John always was one to state the obvious. ‘How is Rosie?’ he asked softly. 

‘She’s sick, fever, stomach ache, headache.’ John’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but the thoughts of his daughter seemed to rouse him quickly and once his brain caught up to the situation he lifted himself into a sitting position. ‘I need to check on her.’ he said as he started to pull back the blankets. 

‘Relax John, go back to sleep, I’ll handle it.’ Sherlock gently pushed him back down into the bed, and with a sleep addled smile John willingly returned his head to his pillow. Sherlock swapped out the towel for some pajamas and his robe and headed back out to the living room. 

Laying a hand on Rosie’s forehead he could feel the radiating heat but decided it wasn’t severe enough to warrant waking her for an accurate reading. Grabbing John’s laptop he took a seat in his armchair and began searching through his website, he figured it was never too early to start looking for the next case. 

With no concept of how much time had passed Sherlock was pulled back to reality by the sound of his name. 

‘Dad?’ it came as no more than a whisper.

‘Hi, sweet girl.’ Sherlock rose from his seat and knelt by the side of the couch. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘It’s freezing’ she whined. She was curled up in a ball, both arms wrapped around her waist. Sherlock could see she was shivering beneath her blanket. 

‘I’ll light the fire, we should probably take your temperature, where did papa put the thermometer?’ Sherlock asked, rising from the ground and looking around the nearby surfaces for the thermometer. A slight shrug was the only help he got from the girl. He soon found it by the kitchen table and handed it to Rosie, who placed it under her arm as he got to lighting the fire. The heat was already starting to fill the room from the growing fire as Sherlock took the thermometer from Rosie. 

‘39.2 degrees, that's high.’ In the light of the fire Sherlock could see her flushed cheeks against her worryingly pale face. Sherlock found the medicine sitting on the kitchen table and took it back over to his daughter with some water. ‘Take these.’ he instructed, she complied, unwrapping her arms from the blanket, Sherlock helped her into a sitting position so she could take the pills. She groaned at the change of position. 

‘What is it? Your stomach?’ Sherlock asked, feeling his worry grow. 

‘Yeah, it hurts.’ she breathed, bringing her arm back to wrap around her midsection. 

‘Do you think you’re going to throw up?’ he asked, handing her the pills and water. She shook her head as she took the medicine. 

‘Try and get some more sleep, I’ll be nearby if you need anything.’ Sherlock took the water and helped Rosie back down and under the blankets.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

John was woken by his alarm early the next morning, a glance at the bedside clock told him had just gone six. He was unsurprised to find the other side of the bed empty, Sherlock often didn’t sleep straight off a case. John figured he probably had to unwind and calm his mind before sleep would come, and Sherlock being who he was likely needed a fair bit longer to do such a thing than most people. As he trudged into the kitchen, his mind set on a cup of tea he saw Rosie still soundly asleep on the couch and his dear husband snoozing in his armchair, book abandoned on his lap. Perhaps it didn’t take him as long to unwind as John had previously thought. John quietly made his way over to Sherlock, who he knew was going to pay the price for falling asleep in that upright position with his neck slightly bent. John ran his fingers through Sherlocks curls, gently waking him.

‘Hey old man,’ John whispered. 

‘I know you couldn’t possibly be referring to me,’ Sherlock uttered, voice low and rough from sleep, his eyes still closed as John continued to massage his head. John just chuckled.

‘You should go hop into the bed.’ John suggested, maintaining his hushed tone. 

‘No, I need to go see Lestrade this morning.’ Sherlock finally opened his eyes and gave a yawn as he stretched out his long limbs. 

‘Tea?’ John whispered heading back into the kitchen. 

‘Mmm.’ Sherlock hummed, rubbing his neck as he stretched it from side to side. Rising slowly from his chair, Sherlock ran a hand across Rosie’s forehead as he passed her on his way to the kitchen. ‘She doesn’t feel too warm.’ he commented as he joined John where he was preparing the tea and some toast. . 

‘Good, hopefully the night's rest has helped.’ John turned to Sherlock, passing him a cup of tea and taking his own to the kitchen table. ‘I’ve got a 12 hour shift at the surgery today, it would be good if she was feeling well enough for school.’ 

Sherlock just stared into his tea as he leant against the kitchen counter, lost somewhere in his mind. John finished his breakfast before heading to the shower. When he emerged just about ready for work he once again saw Rosie still sleeping soundly on the couch, if there was any chance of her making it to school today, he knew he would have to wake her. 

Sitting on the edge of the couch John rubbed a firm hand up and down Rosie’s arm. ‘It’s time to wake up sweetie.’ he encouraged. Rosie opened her eyes, squinting in the morning light streaming in through the window. 

‘What’s the time?’ she mumbled pulling the blankets tighter around herself. 

‘It’s around 6:30.’ John answered, raising a hand to her forehead. ‘It feels like your fever is gone, how are you feeling?’ 

‘Tired,’ she replied mid yawn. 

‘I’ve got to head off to work, but if you get up and ready now Dad can take you into school on his way to Scotland Yard.’ John purposefully didn’t phrase it as a question, hoping she would just follow his lead. He knew it couldn’t be helped, but both he and Sherlock were swamped with work and it really wasn’t a good time for anyone to be getting sick. Rosie had a great immune system and rarely fell ill, he was sure the previous night was just the product of dehydration and stress and perhaps a slight lack of sleep. With all her mid-year exams approaching Rosie had been working incredibly hard and had definitely been feeling the pressure. Rosie sat up and swung her legs off the couch as John stood moving out of her way. She swayed slightly as she stood, reaching a hand out to grab John’s arm for stability. 

‘Come on, you need food and water. It’ll give you your strength back.’ John led the way into the kitchen. Rosie slumped down into one of the kitchen chairs and John got her a glass of water and prepared a few slices of toast. 

Sherlock, now fully dressed, walked into the kitchen as Rosie dejectedly nibbled on the toast. 

‘Sherlock, can you take Rosie into school on your way to see Greg?’ John called to his husband as he slid on his coat and grabbed his bag. Sherlock looked to Rosie and then gave a questioning look to John. Was he really expecting her to go to school today? ‘She’ll feel better once she finishes her breakfast.’ John assured, answering Sherlocks unspoken question. Without waiting for a further response he walked over to plant a kiss on Sherlocks cheek and another on Rosie’s head before heading out of 221B. 

Sherlock took a seat at the table, fiddling with the buttons on his shirt cuffs. ‘Are you finished?’ He asked after a few minutes passed without Rosie taking a bite of her breakfast. 

‘Yeah.’ Rosie pushed her plate away, keeping her eyes down, staring at the table before her. ‘I still don’t feel very well Dad.’ she looked up to meet Sherlock’s gaze, tears beginning to form in her eyes. Sherlocks heart broke. 

‘Hey, it’s okay, come on let’s get you set up on the couch again. We can pop on a movie, alright?’ Sherlock reached across the table to take hold of his daughter's hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. With a small nod, Rosie took a deep breath regaining her composure. 

Once Rosie was comfortable on the couch with Mean Girls playing on the TV, Sherlock retreated to the bedroom to call Lestrade and make his excuses for the morning's meeting, Greg was all to understanding. As Sherlock was composing a text message to John to let him know Rosie wasn’t at school he heard the bathroom door slam. Somewhat confused he made his way from the bedroom to the unmistakable sound of someone being sick. He hesitated by the door, did he go in and offer comfort or did he give her privacy? He heard the toilet flush so decided to just knock and call through the door. ‘Rosie, honey, are you alright?’ 

‘Yeah,’ came the small reply from the bathroom. Sherlock waited outside the door, as he heard the tap being turned on and then off. Before long the door slowly opened and he appraised his daughter, skin so pale it looked grey, dark bags under her eyes a slight tremor to her hands. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and led her back to the couch, wrapping her tightly in blankets. He disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a glass of apple juice. 

‘Here, sip on this.’ He instructed, passing her the glass. Taking the juice, Rosie took a small slow sip. Sherlock sat down on the couch and pulled the girl into his side, an arm around her small frame. They sat there as the movie continued to play, as her weight grew heavier on Sherlock, he noticed her breathing even out as she fell asleep. Gently lowering her onto the couch as he removed himself from her side, he returned to the bedroom to finish the message to John. 

I am home with Rosie, she is still ill.

SH

Sherlock knew that John was exceptionally busy at work, he had been working 12 hour shifts for an extended period of time now and it was taking its toll on him. It wasn’t like him to dismiss his daughter like he had. Anyone would be able to take one look at the poor girl in the other room and know she was sick and yet John, a doctor, had been willing to send her to school. Sherlock deduced that having his child home sick and not being able to be around to care for her would have resulted in John feeling immensely guilty, so he stupidly tried to avoid that situation by ensuring she was not left at home at all. After years with John, Sherlock knew that he would not be kicking himself for his actions and be feeling inadequate as a father, Sherlock would surely have to do some reassuring when they next spoke. 

  
  


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It wasn’t until lunch time that John finally had a moment to himself, all thought of relaxing vanished from his mind when he saw the message from Sherlock. He knew Rosie was still unwell, why hadn’t he taken the time to check on her and listen to her before he ran off to work. After metally berating himself he called Sherlock.

_ Hello John _

‘Sherlock, how is she?’

_ Her temperature is back up to 39 degrees, her stomach still hurts and she has been vomiting  _

‘Aggh poor girl, are you giving her liquids?’

_ Yes _

‘She needs to stay hydrated.’

_ I’m aware _

‘Do you need me to come home?’

_ No, that’s not necessary  _

‘We need to get that fever down, you need to give her some paracetamol.’

_ I gave her a dose an hour ago, John I am not completely inept, I know how to care for someone when they are ill. You know this.  _

‘I know, I’m sorry, but you can get distracted and she is still just a child, she needs love and comfort as well.’

_ Are you implying that I do not love my daughter.  _

‘No of course not, I’m just saying you aren’t exactly a warm and cuddly person, which is what children often want when they are ill.’ 

_ I think perhaps we should end this conversation before you say something you cannot take back. _

With that the line went dead. John sighed deeply, balling his fists and pressing them into his eyes. He hadn’t meant the things he said, his words just got all twisted. He was always the one to take care of Rosie when she was ill, he was the one she messaged, he was the one who was always there while Sherlock disappeared all hours working his cases. He let out another audible sigh, he was so overworked and exhausted, tears burned in his eyes. Why did he feel so bitter? Who was he kidding, Sherlock was always there when they needed him, Sherlock had never displayed anything except unconditional love for Rosie, and John had just gone and questioned his ability as a father. John sat alone in the tea room with his head hung in his hands trying to regain his strength for another five hours of work. He tried to call Sherlock back but the call unsurprisingly went unanswered. 

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Sherlock stood frozen in his bedroom at 221B, his thoughts raced and he had trouble keeping them logical. All he could really focus on was the knife John had just rammed into his chest. He heard Rosie stir in the other room and walked out, trying to push all the intense emotions he felt aside until he could properly deal with them. Rosie sat upright on the couch, sipping on a glass of water, still deathly pale, her hands shaking slightly with the weight of the glass. Sherlock slid down to sit beside her, taking the glass when she was done.

‘How long is this going to last dad?’ Rosie asked looking up at Sherlock with tired pleading eyes. 

‘I don’t know love, but it’s probably just a 24 hour bug.’ Sherlock wrapped both arms around her and pulled her close to his chest, she snaked her arms around his body and seemed to melt into the hug, her head resting on Sherlock’s chest. ‘You know I love you more than anything in this world right?’ Sherlock asked quietly, kissing the top of her head. 

‘Yes, I love you too Dad.’ Rosie replied into Sherlock’s chest. 

The pair stayed curled up on the couch, but as Sherlock started to feel himself getting hot, he realised that the heat source was in fact his daughter. He reached a hand forward and felt the heat radiating from her face. 

‘Hop up Sweetie, I need to take your temperature, I think you’re burning up again.’ Sherlock instructed as he gently extradited himself from his place under Rosie.

Sherlock frowned at the temperature reading, 39.5 degrees, it was still climbing. He prepared a cold wet washcloth and draped it across Rosie’s forehead, telling her it was non-negotiable. He also stripped back a few of the blankets she had cocooned herself in, but stoked the fire to get it roaring, working on establishing a balance. As Sherlock worked the fire, his thoughts returned to the earlier conversation with John however he didn’t get far through his dissection of his mental transcript when he heard the unmistakable footfalls of his brother climbing the stairs to 221B. 

‘Hello Mycroft,’ Sherlock called without turning. 

‘Sherlock.’ Mycroft returned, as Sherlock stood and faced him. Mycroft took in his brother closely, sleeves rolled, top buttons undone, the firm set of his usually cool features. His eyes shot to the couch, and his niece laying there, he supposed that could account for Sherlocks disheveled appearance but not the look of … pain perhaps, beneath his calculating eyes. Mycroft deduced an argument with John, he supposed the stress of an ill child could prompt a row. 

Sherlock saw Mycroft finish his silent appraisal of him and come to whatever ridiculous conclusions he found fitting. Mycroft raised a question eyebrow.

‘I think she has a stomach bug, maybe something she ate.’ Sherlock answered. A flash of worry crossed the other man’s face, Sherlock hid a smile. Rosie would have to be the only person on the planet that could cause a break in Mycroft’s facade. She had had the man wrapped around her little finger since the beginning. Knowing he would most likely never have children of his own, Mycroft had slid into the role of uncle seamlessly. 

‘Do you need anything?’ Mycroft asked earnestly. 

‘Just to know what you are doing here.’ Sherlock replied coldly, he knew he was projecting his frustration, but the fact that Mycroft would also know that, just added to his angst. 

‘I have a case I’d like you to look at … but I can always bring it back another time.’ Mycroft finished slowly. At the harsh look he received from Sherlock in response he pulled out the file and handed it over. In an act of childish defiance Sherlock tossed it onto the kitchen table. 

‘I’ll take a look when I have time.’ Sherlock stated off handedly, watching Mycroft for a reaction that didn’t come. Instead Mycroft strode over to the couch and looked down at Rosie. 

‘Hey Uncle Myc.’ Rosie forced a small smile. 

‘Hi Rose, do you need me to get you anything?’ He asked softly. 

‘No thank you.’ came her simple reply. Mycroft turned to Sherlock who was now leaning against the kitchen counter watching the exchange. 

‘Where is John?’ 

‘At work.’ Sherlock replied shortly. 

‘I would have thought he would be here looking after her.’ Mycroft knew he had hit a nerve when Sherlocks jaw clenched, his brow furrowing slightly. 

‘I am here looking after her.’ Sherlocks words were harsh and clipped. Mycroft joined him in the kitchen. ‘Am I really such a monster that you all would think me incapable of providing care and comfort to my own sick child.’ The anger faded and gave way to genuine hurt. Mycroft suddenly had a much clearer idea about what Sherlock and John had argued about. 

‘I am not questioning your ability as a father, I have no doubt that you are taking good care of Rose.’ Mycroft explained carefully. 

‘I have been there for every birthday, every lost tooth, every school meeting. Every good day, every bad day. I’ve comforted her after nightmares, cheered for her at sporting events. I’ve been there to offer advice or a sympathetic ear. I have loved her and John more than I ever thought I could love anyone and yet you all still paint me as the erratic unreliable sociopathic detective.’ the words came quickly, Sherlock dancing between anger and sadness. Mycroft faltered, he could not remember ever seeing such a blatant display of emotion from his brother. 

Sherlock hung his head and schooled his features already regretting the rant, he had never cared much about what people thought of him, but this had struck a chord with him. The awkward moment was quickly dispelled when they heard a cry from the other room.

‘Dad?’ Rosie called urgently 

Rushing back through to the living room, Rosie was doubled over on the couch arms wrapped around her stomach. Sherlock was by her side in a moment.

‘What is it Rosie?’ He asked, concern evident in his voice.

‘It’s my stomach, it really hurts.’ she groaned. 

‘Tell me where’ Sherlock pulled back the blankets and gently prodded her abdomen. Rosie cried out in pain as he lifted his hand from the lower right side of her abdomen. ‘Sorry sweetie.’ he careded his fingers through her hair. 

‘Appendicitis?’ Mycroft suggested from where he stood behind Sherlock. 

‘Yeah, could be.’ Sherlock looked up at his brother from where he knelt. ‘Is the car still outside?’

‘Yes, parked on the street.’ Mycroft replied, instantly understanding. 

‘Can you grab the bucket from under the sink?’ He instructed Mycroft as he turned back to Rosie. ‘Come on love, I think we need to make a trip to the emergency room to get you checked out okay? Can you walk?’ His voice was soft and he laid a reassuring hand on Rosie’s back as she slowly stood, an arm still wrapped around her abdomen. Mycroft held open the door as they slowly made their way down the stairs and into the car waiting outside on Baker street. Sherlocks earlier worries about his conversation with John were far from his mind as he slid into the car next to Rosie, taking the bucket from Mycroft who then climbed into the front seat and gave instruction to the driver. 

  
  



End file.
